Does it Have to Happen Tonight?
by Graces of the Child
Summary: Puck's got his fight club, but what happens when someone he didn't expect joins in on the party? Puck/Kurt friendship, preslash. Rated for swearing.


**A/N: First Glee fic, very exciting. :) So glad to have found this series, and I absolutely cannot wait for April to come along (the first new episodes are right around the same time as my birthday). Love Puck/Kurt, really think that it's an exciting and different way to see them interact. **

"_Does it have to happen tonight? Because… I have my fight club."_

Puck walked down the dark staircase that seemed a bit more familiar during the daytime, but with no packs of students and no, well, lights… it just kinda creased him a bit. Got under his skin.

He jumped down the last flight of steps and groped around for a light switch, anything so he wouldn't have to squint like a moron. But this was still a bit stiff to him, a bit new, something he wasn't the big man on campus for.

Yanking down the doors, Puck opened to a crowd of twentysomething and thirtysomethings, gathered around the barely lit center of the wrestling room, which was waiting patiently. His English teacher or Rachel would probably call it _irony_; a bunch of dropouts, "Lima losers" found their only comfort in the basement of McKinnley, their only happiness in the night which they never got in the day.

Fuck, he wasn't here to be poetic. He was here to kick some ass and forget about his problems (named Finn and Quinn) for a few minutes.

"Cig?" A raspy voice next to him offered, and Puck took it with a thank-you grunt before sticking it in his mouth.

"Ya hear, Jack?" the raspy guy said after a few minutes of people buzzing around the center of the stage. "We got us some newfags tonight, two of 'em. Should be a damn party."

"Whatever man," Puck grumbled, lighting the cigarette and staring out to what he could see of the 'stage'. They usually got new members in September, when juniors or seniors cracked under the pressure, and young men couldn't find work or school anymore. Not in the middle of November.

But he saw one of the duds he's never seen before, getting pulled by each guy onto the center of the stage with a bit of a struggle. Puck moved forward in curiosity, pushing to the front of the row.

The first guy had a dopey look, as if he had walked into some convention without knowing where he was. As soon as he saw that expression, Puck's body stepped forward into the patch of concrete known as an arena. "I'm tagging this one, Bob," he said, and looked at the terrified newbie.

He reminded him of Finn.

Same stupid face, same blank eyes, same gorilla shoulders. This guy could've been the Finn from two years ago, then got some chick pregnant, graduated to bagging groceries or working at the garage next to his house, then gotten his ass here somehow to find relief.

The bastard, the fake-Finn looked like most new people do; like he was gonna cry or puke.

"_Ding ding, motherfucker, start the battle already!" _

Puck stripped out of the loose wife beater that was already covered in sweat, and threw it off to the side. Rubbing a hand through his Mohawk for luck, he came onto the guy, nailing him with sucker punches and the occasional kick to the stomach when he felt like it.

Really, he didn't see it anymore, didn't think about what was going on with his body. It was just the same old crap, but damn him if it made him feel just a bit better getting some blows on his 'good buddy' who was raising his little girl, or even some guy who looked like him, it didn't matter much now.

Maybe he'd bring Mike and Matt here. Everyone was nervous about the stupid Sectionals coming up in a few days, and he always felt better after he beat some guy down.

The ringleader, some dude named Robert, ended the match and helped drag the limp fake-Finn into a corner to nurse his wounds.

The guy didn't cry, they knew better than to cry like a pussy after a fight, otherwise they would just get tagged again and again. A couple times, buddies had to take their dumbass friends to the hospital, find some excuse other than why they were here. He left the center, away from the congratulations of dudes he didn't know or would never talk to otherwise. Could've sworn he saw Jacob at some point, hiding in the back and never getting called, but brushed it off.

"Three and a half minutes!" someone shouted from the back of the room, and he threw an arm up in victory.

Puck waited for the next new victim, wiping the sweat from his forehead and extinguishing the cigarette he had been smoking through the fight. Yeah, he was a badass.

Searching for the next newbie among the crowd, the men started laughing and bumping until they were pushing the next bitch to the center.

"Let me go, you gorillas! I was just about to volunteer myself without being molested!"

He looked up in shock, recognizing the high-pitched squeal. But it couldn't be.

"Hummel!" he shouted without thinking, and the entire club turned and looked at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Puck didn't know whether he was more insulted at the idea that he could just waltz in here… or shocked that he had the balls to do it. Didn't Hummel just see him beat down that other guy? And that was a fair fight.

"I didn't have anything else to do, now that I finished sorting all my clothes by brand and color," he repeated, not eyeing Puck directly, although nice enough to include sarcasm at him.

It did get a laugh from Bob, though. "Well, ladies, looks like we've got ourselves a queer. Who'd like to do the honors?"

A large guy shoved his way through the mass, and high-fived Bob. "Allow me," he grunted in a heavy accent, and Puck groaned.

That dumbass Hummel was going to get his ass kicked.

Puck wanted to close his eyes, as the traditional 'bell' began the match. As fast as he could see, the nameless fighter threw the first punch. Kurt was alert, however, and did manage to dodge it in time, throwing his hands up just in case.

"Pussy!" several of the audience members called out. "Come on, fag, take a punch already!"

They received their wish, as the next quick shot caught Kurt smack in the face. Puck winced, but couldn't look away as Kurt's hands flew to his right eye, leaving him open for a punch right to the gut. It almost knocked him down on the concrete floor.

Puck shouted, but was glad nobody heard as the fighter threw his hands back up, trying to defend from his assailant.

After the initial bit, though, Kurt stumbled and recovered well. Was he really that used to getting beat up? The worst he'd ever heard of was him getting slushied or thrown in the garbage, but obviously he was even more of a pain fiend than Puck thought.

Finally, Kurt was able to nail a single punch in the gut, setting off a lot of swear words in some language he didn't know and a punch to the shoulder that met with a nasty crunch. That set the crowd cheering, and he was knocked down onto the floor.

"Ha, it's over!" one guy called, and the burly fighter pumped his fists into the air before the club cheered. "Sucker, queer! Two minutes!"

Kurt picked himself up and walked out, head looking straight ahead, and Puck watched him move towards the door. "Wait up!" he shouted, placing a hand on his shoulder as he was about to fall.

"P-uck, No-ah." Kurt moaned out through his sore jaw. "Can't make me feel worse now, no dump-dumpsters."

Puck sighed, and tried to stop him. "Damn it, Hummel, are you trying to get yourself killed? That guy was at least twice your weight." He sighed when he got no answer, only as cold a stare as his injured classmate could manage. "And if you haven't noticed, you have a black eye and at least one busted rib."

"I can deal."

"Like hell. I'm driving you home so you can get your shit together."

To be fair, Puck thought to himself, this was unusually kind of him. After all, if he was seen with Kurt in his car, it'd be the end of him. "Get in, Hummel."

He let go of the smaller boy, watching him ease his way in the backseat, wincing at obvious pains in his chest, the girly face twisting in hurt.

"Why'd you do it, Kurt?"

"Get in your car? Good question, but I suppose getting raped can't really change my night much."

"What? No!" Who the hell did Kurt think he was? "I mean, why'd you go get your ass kicked like that?"

A light groan from the back seat, as he tried to sit up and failed miserably. "I wanted to see if I could."

Yeah, right, even Puck wasn't fucking stupid enough to believe that one. "I'm not as stupid as you think I am, by the way."

Kurt sat there silently for a long time, and he wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or that he was getting worse.

"Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

"I guess you don't have to tell me why. Probably wouldn't make a difference."

"Noah, reverse psychology doesn't affect me."

"Seriously, dude. If that's how I deal with my problems, you're totally able to use it to deal with your own problems."

"Good, I'm glad you understand. Now let me die in peace."

"You're not going to die."

A pause, as Puck pulled into the Hummel driveway.

"You know what, Kurt?"

"What?"

"I'm gonna train you. Maybe get you to man up a bit, so you can at least bust some bones."

Another pause.

"I'd like that, Noah."

"Cool. Now get out of my car. And see ya tomorrow."

"Just remember the rules, no shirts and no shoes."

Puck laughed, as Hummel pulled himself out of the backseat. "Whatever, man."


End file.
